← In the Vision of GodHis autobiography, book two

CHAPTER VIII

Hubli

(i) The Heart of the Mother

Ramdas once again started alone on foot. He walked on and on through fields, meadows and woodlands. About a week’s satsang with the village devotees has assuaged his grief brought on by the incident at annakshetra at Pandharpur. The Lord had brought it about in his own mysterious way. He is truly the great healer of our sorrows. As he journeyed on, he came upon an elevated land, covered with a wild growth of shrubs. When he was passing through it a wish to smoke crossed his mind. He smoked tobacco sometimes but did not carry any with him. Where was the possibility of having a smoke in the midst of a jungle, a solitary place far away from the haunts of men? But, for the Lord nothing is impossible.

Suddenly, a man from behind the bushes came on towards him. Looking at him, the first thing Ramdas noticed was a bidi, a country leaf-cigarette, poised on his ear. The man quietly removed the bidi from the place on his ear and offered it to Ramdas. He would not touch Ramdas. He dropped the bidi into his hands. Then, taking out from his pockets two smooth black stones and a bit of cotton wool, and striking the stones one against the other, he produced a spark that set fire to the piece of cotton. He handed the burning cotton to Ramdas on a leaf. Ramdas lit the bidi and began smoking. All this was the work of a few seconds. So far, Ramdas had no talk with him. They walked on the same road, but he maintained a certain distance.

Ramdas broke the silence with the question: “Why do you, brother, shrink away from Ramdas and walk so far apart?”

“O master,” he replied, “I am a pariah by caste. How can I go very near you or touch your sacred person?”

No sooner did Ramdas hear this, than he rushed towards the pariah and, throwing his arms round his shoulders, embraced him.

“You are not an untouchable. You are Lord Vithoba Himself. Are you not the same dhed who ran to the rescue of Damaji Pant, the noted saint of Mangalvedha?”

He laughed knowingly and recapitulated the incident.

“Now, master, where are you going?” he asked.

“Don’t know where,” was Ramdas’ reply.

He said: “Two miles from here, there is a tiny village on the banks of the river Bhima. Do proceed to that village. It has only one shop. You go and stand before the shop, and the Lord will attend to all your needs. I can escort you as far as the outskirts of the village. My way lies in a different direction.”

Ramdas acquiesced. There was no further talk. He was merged in a blissful abstraction. The village loomed in view. He made straight for it. He was now only about fifty yards from the village-huts when he turned back to look for his strange companion. The so-called pariah had disappeared.

The sun had risen right overhead. As advised by him, Ramdas stopped before the only shop of the village. An unusually stout woman was attending to the customers with the help of a young man. The mother saw Ramdas. Suddenly her maternal heart went out for her child, the lone wanderer. Brushing aside the customers, who had crowded in front of her shop, she beckoned him with both hands to draw near.

“Son, son,” she said to the young man by her, “first give this sadhu something to eat.”

Soon, in the outstretched cloth of Ramdas rained a pretty large quantity of parched rice, jaggery, dates, etc. The stout mother jumped down from her seat in the shop and called for a blanket. With the blanket she stepped as quickly as her heavy body could permit to the verandah of Mahadev temple on the other side of the road, opposite to her shop. Spreading the blanket on the floor, she invited him to take his seat. He was duly installed on the blanket. She got also a lota of drinking water for him.

The mother squatted opposite to him and tenderly urged him to eat. By this time a number of small boys had gathered round him. He distributed the major portion of the eatables among the children and partaking himself of some of them drank the water.

“Sadhuji,” the mother then said, “the river Bhima is nearby. Have your ablutions in the river and then return. I shall either take you home or fetch the meal over here.”

He got up and traced his steps to the river where he washed his clothes and had a bath. Returning he found the mother waiting for him.

“Come along, sadhuji.” she said, “I am taking you home.” He followed her. The sun was very hot and the ground was burning. He had nothing either to cover his head or to protect his feet. About half-way the mother realised the situation. Her soft heart felt the pangs of remorse.

“What a heartless creature I am!” she cried, “I ought not to have taken you out in this hot sun. I could have brought meals for you in the temple. You have no sandals on your feet. The ground is hot like a frying pan. Fool, fool that I am!”

The mother had, of course, leather sandals on her feet. Hence her remorse was all the more poignant.

“Never mind, mother,” he assured her, “your child is accustomed to the heat.”

“Come on, let us walk quickly. We have only a short distance to cover,” she said.

Her unwieldy body swayed to and fro as she hastened on. They arrived at the door of her cottage, but to her great dismay it was locked, for her daughter-in-law had gone to the neighbouring house closing the doors. She had the key. Her return would surely take some time, and Ramdas meanwhile had no place to stand but in the sun.

The mother called out “Lakshmi! Lakshmi!” Drawing deep breaths she spoke: “What shall I do? You have to stand barefooted on the burning sand!”

She found a way out. She lifted up Ramdas bodily from behind – he was a feather-weight to her – and held him standing on the lower cross-piece of the door-frame, and bawled out for her Lakshmi who at last came running. She could not resist giving a bit of her mind to the daughter-in-law, and a goodly slice it was!

Inside the house, he sat on a plank offered by the mother. At her bidding the girl Lakshmi placed before him a plate of food which consisted of two thick rotis and dal curry. He started eating. He found the rotis stiff and unyielding to the fingers. However, he attempted to crush and mix them with the dal. They would not submit to the process. He put some pieces of roti with dal into the mouth and tried to swallow them. Of course, it must be noted that he had at that time hardly three or four teeth in his mouth. So mastication was out of the question. He swallowed the rotis piece after piece until a big-sized one got stuck up into the throat. Suffocation ensued. He tried to push down the bit or throw it out by a cough. The mother watched the struggle and light dawned on her.

She exclaimed: “Cursed be my wits! Lakshmi, are you also so blind? The sadhu has no teeth, and you have served him with cold and stiff rotis. How can he eat them? Now look! his throat is choked. Good Lord! Lakshmi, you are perfectly heartless. You have not offered him even water to drink. Quick, quick, give him some water. See, his face has turned red; he is gasping for breath!”

Immediately a tumbler of water was placed in his hands and he drank. The piece of roti was washed down the throat. Now the mother pounced upon the plate of food and, while taking it away, said: “This is going to do you no good.” “Lakshmi,” she told the girl, “prepare at once fresh rotis. Make them soft. Look to it at once.”

While Lakshmi was busy, the mother milked the she-buffalo, standing in the square-yard in the centre of the building. In a few minutes she heated the milk. Lakshmi’s trained hands made soft rotis. The mother crushed two of them in the hot milk in a plate. The softened meal was then placed before him.

“Sadhuji,” the mother then appealed, “you must forgive me. I am after all a foolish and useless woman; forgive me. The food is now all right; please do justice to it.”

After dinner the mother accompanied him back to the temple, and taking leave of him returned to her home. Such was the heart of the mother. He directly started on his journey and walked until sunset when he reached a way-side village.

(ii) Is There God?

Thus from village to village he travelled on. Again the plight of his feet grew worse due to incessant walking. He was now nearing Bijapur. On leaving a village in the afternoon, he had covered a distance of about three miles. It might be past three o’clock when he met some men coming from the opposite direction. They stopped him and enquired whither he was going. He, of course, told them that he wanted to reach Bijapur. One of them warned him that he would not reach Bijapur before dark, as he had to traverse yet twenty miles, and there was not a single village on the way where he could halt. In darkness he might lose himself and be caught in a jungle. He suggested that Ramdas might start early next morning. Meanwhile he might give them the pleasure of his company for the night.

Ram takes care of His child at every place!

He retraced his steps with these kind friends and spent the night in their village. Early next morning, long before dawn, he started again and covered about ten miles by forenoon. Here he found on his left a big area of cultivated fields. In the middle of the farm was a well from which water was being drawn by pikotah for irrigating the fields. A farmer and four bullocks were at work. Ramdas went to the well to quench his thirst and did so by descending into the well. When he came up, the driver of the bullocks beckoned Ramdas to go to him. He made Ramdas sit beside him in the cool shade of a large tree near the brink of the well. Ramdas smoked a few puffs from his chilam of tobacco.

“Now, I have a question to ask you,” he said. “Are you sure, sadhuji, that there is a God? For my part I have strong doubts about His existence.”

Ramdas replied: “God is there for them who have faith, and not for them who have not.”

“Listen then to my tale,” he continued, “my occupation as you see is agriculture. I have a family consisting of my wife, three grown-up daughters, a son and his wife. The green fields around this well are of our cultivation. All the members of the family are toiling in the fields from morn till night. These four bullocks also work for long hours for irrigating the fields. We are all actively at our tasks throughout the year. With all this you will be surprised to learn we are not having sufficient to procure bare creature comforts.” Pointing to his daughters who had by now assembled near Ramdas, he added with a bitter tone: “Look, maharaj, at the clothing of my girls. They are in rags. You say there is God. If there is one, He must be very cruel; if cruel He is not God.”

“For Ramdas,” Ramdas replied, “God is not a mere matter of faith or speculation. He is a certainty. In spite of what you say of your conditions, Ramdas can assure you that God is, and He is all kindness and love. We are not to judge His existence by the material comforts we obtain in life or by the absence of such comforts. The trials and sufferings we undergo are necessary for our spiritual growth. For the sake of God, princes have renounced kingdoms and have taken to the beggar’s bowl and rags. Life is misery for him who knows no contentment, however affluent he may be in circumstances. A poor man content in his cottage is far happier than a monarch discontented in his palace. Contentment is a gift of God which we get through faith and submission to Him. God never means us harm. Our want of belief in His benevolence is the source of our misery. You may say yours are hard facts that sternly face you. They are nothing when you assign them the right value, and thus understand the true purpose of life. Verily, God is not for him who frets and fumes. Brother, do not give way to despair. Submit to His will and all will be well.”

He heard Ramdas in silence while his eyes were filled with tears. Ramdas left him and proceeded on his journey.

Ramdas’ mind set to work: whence is the misery of the agriculturist? No doubt, one suffers by one’s own actions or karma. How did karma in this case work through external causes? The middleman and the moneylender were certainly the ostensible causes of the poor man’s ruin. The heartless exploitation by the tradesman on the one hand and the greediness of the moneylender on the other must have crushed him down. The ceremonies and festivals, over which large sums of money are wasted, should have driven him into the clutches of the latter. Added to these, there are the caprices of the weather and seasons and, to top it all, heavy taxation.

At midday he arrived at a village where, under a grove of trees, there was a tank in which he had his bath, and then his bhiksha in the neighbouring village. Resting for an hour in the cool shade of the grove he continued his journey. Bijapur now lay only at a distance of six miles which he made up by five o’clock in the evening.

He went to the house of Shankarlal Oza, the kind merchant-friend whose hospitable roof had sheltered him, when he had visited Bijapur on the previous occasion. At his pressure Ramdas stayed with him for two days. He and his ailing wife proved by their kind attention that they were the very embodiments of love. Shankarlal noticed the condition of Ramdas’ feet. They were so much swollen that they appeared to be stricken with elephantiasis. He spoke with great concern about this matter in the presence of his friends who, touched by his reference, raised a contribution for his railway fare to Hubli. Ramdas had told him that he was to go to Hubli.

(iii) You Are in the Upper Storey, Eh!

On the third day he left by the evening train. After purchasing the ticket Shankarlal found a balance of eight annas left from the amount subscribed by the friends. He urged Ramdas to accept the money and, in spite of his protest, he slipped it into the pocket of a long coat Ramdas was then wearing, as also the ticket.

Night passed, the day dawned. The eight-anna change was jingling in his pocket. He did not know what to do with it. Till then he was not in the habit of carrying money, because he needed none. The Lord looked after him in all matters without giving him occasion to handle moneys. When the train stopped at a station, a blind beggar got into the compartment. Here was a way out of the situation, thought Ramdas, and handed the beggar a two-anna bit, reserving the balance for any beggars who might come along at subsequent stations. Station after station passed and yet no sight of a beggar.

At about ten o’ clock, the train steamed into the Hubli station. Alighting, Ramdas came to the road. What to do with the money? The question was insistently forcing itself on his mind. Ram bid him to go straight to Ubhayakar’s house and in the afternoon to Sri Siddharudh math. He walked as far as the gate of Ubhayakar’s house but no, he could not enter the gate with money in his pocket. He wanted to dispose of it but there was no way. However, he turned and retraced his steps towards the station, and half-way stopped on the road. “O! what to do with the money?” No beggar was anywhere visible. He thought of flinging the coins into the ditch on the side of the road but again no, Ram wanted him to hand over the money to somebody. Where was that somebody? What a problem! O Lord!

The matter may have only an ordinary significance for the reader, but for Ramdas it was a momentous and crucial question. Once again he wended his way to Ubhayakar’s. When he was nearing the house he discovered a sweeper, just emerging from the compound of the municipal office: “Here is Ram, come to the rescue”, muttered Ramdas. Ramdas passed the loose coins to him which he accepted with great joy. A weight seemed to have been lifted off his heart. Now he entered Ubhayakar’s house.

Subbarao Ubhayakar – a saintly soul – gave him a glad welcome. All the members of his household were overflowing in their kindness to him. The old saint showed him the Krishna temple, built through his effort and initiative. The murti of Sri Krishna – of marble, pure and white as snow – is a charming figure, indeed a beautiful work of art.

Returning home the saint asked Ramdas: “Where do you wish to go next from Hubli?”

“Bangalore,” was the reply.

“Well, our people are leaving the day after tomorrow for Bangalore. You may accompany them,” he suggested. Ramdas agreed.

In the afternoon he visited the famous math of Sri Siddharudh Swami. This was his second visit to the math. Sri Siddharudh was the same great personality that drew thousands to his feet. Ramarao – son of Shivarao Chandragiri who has since assumed sannyas, attended on Ramdas with all love, a noble son of worthy parents.

Ramdas stayed at the math for two days. In the nights he took shelter in the verandah of the samadhi temple. On the second night, a little after dark, a devotee of the math came to him.

“Would you like to have something to eat?” he asked.

Now Ramdas was in no mood to eat, nor was he in the realms of duality.

“To whom are you putting the question?” was Ramdas’ counter-stroke.

“To you, of course,” he replied pointing his finger at Ramdas.

“Is there such a thing as you and I when all is one?” Ramdas rejoined. “Is not all that is visible like the snake in the rope, like the son of a barren woman, like the horns of a hare, like a flower…..”

“You are in the upper storey, eh!” he remarked as he took to his heels and disappeared from view.

Next day Ramdas returned to Ubhayakar’s house and left Hubli by the midday train in the company of the ladies of the house. These mothers looked after him very tenderly on the way. They reached Bangalore early morning the following day.